"Yes," said the gypsy, almost as if speaking to herself,--"yes--you have come through some dangers--water was the worst, but that was long ago.
Now water has robbed you of your dearest, but only for a time. It will restore what it has carried away. And you will be happy. You have a brave heart. Strange things have happened of late to you. You have with you an unexpected visitor. And you are going to have another unexpected visit--a shorter one. Show kindness to your guest; it is always well to do so, though you may not care to receive a stranger. And----"
"No," said mamma,--"no, my good woman. I really don"t want to hear any more. It is getting late, and you say you have come far and this little fellow will be tired. You had better go,"--she drew away her hand as she spoke, though quite gently.
"Very well, my lady," said the woman, without persisting further; "and I thank you for your courtesy."
"Shall I send some one to see you through the lodge gates?" said mamma; but the woman shook her head.
"There is no need," she said. "I shall not pa.s.s that way," and she walked off quietly.
Hoskins came forward and stood beside us.
"I declare," she said, "she is going by the sh.o.r.e! What a round to get to the high road!"
"Perhaps she is going to meet a boat," I said. For there were little coves farther on, from where boats were easily launched, and whence an hour or so"s rowing would bring them to a small fishing village called Brigsea.
"Very likely," said mamma; "that is a good idea and explains the mystery. But she was a queer woman all the same," and mamma seemed a tiny bit upset.
"She only told you good things, though," I said. "I do wonder how she knew about your escape from a great danger by water, long ago."
"Yes," said mamma. "It is very strange how they know things."
"And about our unexpected visitor," I went on; "that meant Taisy, of course. But I wonder who the new one coming can be?"
"Oh, n.o.body, I daresay," said mamma. "Visitors and letters coming are one of their stock prophecies. Still she did not strike me as quite a commonplace gypsy. I wish Taisy had been here to see her too. Where can they all be, I wonder?"
We were not kept uncertain very long. We heard a whoop, followed by the appearance of the two boys, who told us that Taisy and Esme were coming directly.
"We"ve all been in the wood," said Geordie.
"I wish you had been here," I said. "There"s been a gypsy at the back door," and I went on to tell him of our strange visitor and what she had said.
Geordie whistled.
"I should have liked to talk to her," he remarked. "Did she say how she got into the grounds?"
I shook my head.
"No," I replied. "She was very mysterious about it, but she went away in the direction of the sh.o.r.e, so she prob----"
I was interrupted by another whoop, and in a moment or two up came Taisy and Esme, looking very hot and untidy, but very eager to hear all details of our rather uncanny visitor, as soon as the word "gypsy" had caught their ears.
And we talked so much about her that at last mamma said we had really better change the subject, or she would begin to wish she had not agreed to see the woman.
"You will all be dreaming about her and fancying she knew much more than she did," mamma added; and though she smiled and did not seem at all vexed, I somehow felt that she rather wished the gypsy had not come. One little thing which she said helped to explain this.
"I cannot get the small boy out of my mind," it was. "She spoke sharply to him, and he seemed frightened. I do hope she is not unkind to him."
"Oh no," I said; "she had not an unkind face at all, though there was something rather--_odd_--about it, besides her being a gypsy."
Taisy laughed, and stroked mamma"s arm.
"I should think it _most_ unlikely she is unkind to the child," she said, "though he is not her son--or grandson! Dear auntie, you are too tender-hearted."
Just then I heard a sort of giggle from Esme, who, for a wonder, was sitting quietly with a book in a corner. I felt vexed with her.
"Esme," I whispered, "it"s very rude to laugh at anything Taisy says to mamma."
CHAPTER X
"IT"S ANOTHER SNAIL"
It was the next morning at breakfast that another strange thing happened. It was when the letters came.
We did not get them quite so early as at home, for it would have brought the postman a good deal out of his way to come down to the Hut, so it had been arranged for him to leave them at the lodge, and for them to be sent on from there.
This morning there were only two: one for mamma--a long one, it seemed, but not a foreign one, as I saw by a glance at the thick paper while she was reading it. But I had not noticed anything about Taisy"s, and when a queer kind of little gasp made me look round at her, my first thought was that there was bad news of papa, which some one had somehow sent first to her--Taisy--for her to "break it," as they say, to mamma.
And my heart began to beat furiously, and no wonder, I think, for Taisy was as white as the tablecloth, and was evidently on the point of bursting into tears.
"Taisy, Taisy," I whispered. Luckily she was sitting next me, so that I could speak to her in a low voice without being overheard. "Is it--oh, is it, anything wrong with papa?" and I felt myself clasping my hands together under the table in an agony of terror.
_My_ face brought back Taisy"s presence of mind.
"No, no," she said. "Nothing of that kind--nothing wrong really. I know I am very silly," and already the colour was coming back to her cheeks, for she was not a nervous or delicate girl at all. "It is only--oh, I must tell auntie first, and then you will understand the sort of fright I got."
She stopped abruptly, for just then mamma looked up from her letter and spoke to Taisy. She was smiling a little, which made me feel all the more puzzled as to what was the matter with Taisy when I heard her reply to mamma"s question, "Have you too a letter from your grandmother?"
"Yes, auntie," as if the two words were all she could force herself to say.
Still, mamma did not notice her peculiar manner. She herself turned again to her letter.
"I must say my respect for our gypsy has risen," she remarked, "though I suppose it is really only a rather odd coincidence."
At this Taisy"s colour changed again and her lips began to quiver. And, happening to glance across the table, I saw that Esme"s mouth was wide open, and that she was staring gravely at Taisy, in a way quite unusual with her. I could not make it out at all.
Breakfast was over by this time. Mamma turned to the children.
"Run off, dears, but don"t be very long. You have just time for a little blow before Taisy and Ida are ready for lessons."
"But, mamma," began Esme, "I want to speak to Taisy first."
"No "buts," Esme," said mamma decidedly. We were well used to them.
"Taisy won"t be ready to speak to you just yet. Run off at----" she had not time to finish the sentence before she at last noticed Taisy; the tears were really starting by now, and her breath came in little chokes.
"Go, children," mamma repeated, looking startled, "and Geordie, dear, you had better be getting ready for Kirke."